


Young Harry

by TheaNishimori



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Gen, Work Up For Adoption
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-03
Updated: 2016-01-03
Packaged: 2018-05-11 08:23:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5620051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheaNishimori/pseuds/TheaNishimori
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A chance encounter leaves Reese wondering what people Finch might have left behind when he disappeared.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Young Harry

**Author's Note:**

> UP FOR ADOPTION. See end notes for details.

Harry Grouse didn’t mind walking in the rain, even without an umbrella – he would never let anyone accuse him of being a _prima donna_ just because his grandfather was rich, and there was only a fine mist coming down at the moment. But he did rather mind the kind of neighborhood he was having to walk through right now, especially since he seemed to have attracted some unwanted attention.

“Hey, preppie boy,” called one of the three disreputable-looking young men loitering on a stoop. “Got some lunch money in that fancy suit?”

“I’ll bet he’s got _lots_ of money in his backpack,” another taunted.

“Maybe we should check his pockets too,” the third added.

Harry tried to ignore them as he strode toward the rendezvous point his driver had indicated. Some traffic jam had made it impossible for Olsen to pick him up in front of his school as usual, which was why he was walking over to the closest open thoroughfare. He’d never used this access road before, though, and he made a mental note to never use it again.

“C’mon, can’t you spare some change for the unemployed common man?” mocked the biggest of the three guys. “Can’t you even find it in your heart to share some of your ill-gotten wealth? We’re the 99%, you know – folk like you ain’t gonna run the show much longer!”

Harry had increased his pace as much as he could without breaking into a run, and he saw with relief that the sign for the intersection was only a few steps away. However, there was no sign of the Rolls, and the guys had actually left their spot to follow him. He paused for a moment at the curb, not knowing what to do. Should he wait for Olsen here, as agreed, in the hopes that the driver would arrive soon? Or should he keep walking to try to shake off his unwelcome followers and call Olsen to pick him up elsewhere?

Before he could make up his mind, though, the three had caught up to him and surrounded him. Harry had been on the wrestling team for a couple of years but he had no illusions about the outcome of fighting these young men, who might also be armed. He also knew that the safest thing to do was to let them have what they wanted, but such passivity irked him sorely, so he ground his teeth as they continued to hassle him, clenching his hands into fists but otherwise maintaining his composure. They were making fun of his school uniform, tugging on the lapels of his navy blazer and poking at the gray sweater beneath, while the biggest one continued on his rant about the downtrodden populace.

“Move on, fellas... Just walk away,” came a soft voice that, despite its quiet tone, cut across their inane chatter. Harry looked up to see a tall man with piercing eyes and an aura of authority whose demand had made the three guys back off a little, almost by instinct.

“Who’re you, Pops? His bodyguard... or his babysitter?” one managed to sneer.

“I’m just a... concerned third party,” the man calmly replied, not backing down an inch. “You guys should leave, now... before someone gets hurt.”

The threat in his words was obvious but it only raised the hackles of the three toughs.

“Yeah? That someone’s gonna be _you_ , Pops!” the big one blustered, then took a swing at him. In a move almost too quick to see, the man caught his fist and knocked it back into his own face with a sickening _crunch_. The next one had already moved in to help his crony and could not back off in time – his leg was swiped out from under him, landing him hard on the sidewalk, his head hitting the cement with a loud _crack_. The third, one arm cocked to swing, hesitated for a moment, his wild eyes glancing at his friends before returning to the tall man’s face.

“Don’t do it,” the man warned, and suddenly the guy lost his nerve and took off running back down the access road.

“Are you all right?” Reese asked Harry, who felt an inexplicable flush spreading across his face as he met the gaze of his rescuer. The man was strikingly handsome, he realized, although his graying hair betrayed his age.

“Uh... yes, thank you,” he responded with some difficulty, his tongue feeling thick in his mouth.

“Are you waiting for someone?”

“Yes, Olsen – my driver. He should be here any minute now...”

“Traffic’s backed up over there,” Reese said, indicating the next cross-street. “Some kind of explosion at a laundry facility – police had to reroute everybody so the fire trucks could get through. It may take him a while to go around the mess.”

Of course Reese omitted the fact that he had _caused_ the explosion while in pursuit of another Number (a perpetrator) that Finch’s Machine had given them. It had been more of an accident, though – the man had shot at Reese but missed, hitting a pipe instead, which leaked a flammable gas into the air. When Reese had fired back from behind some equipment, the gas had ignited and led the flame back to its main tank like a long fuse to dynamite. The man had been knocked out cold by the explosion, so Reese had dragged him to safety (conferring with Finch to ensure that he would be taken into custody as soon as the police arrived on the scene) before slipping away. His day’s work completed, Reese had just signed off with Finch and was heading home – or at least, to the cheap apartment at which he currently slept.

The big guy stirred on the ground and managed to sit up, his face and hands bloodied.

“You broge by dode!” he accused, staring balefully at Reese.

“I’m sorry about that, but you really should have listened to my advice. I told you to leave before someone got hurt,” he reminded in his gentle voice. “You should get that checked out – put some ice on it. I believe there’s an urgent care clinic down the street.”

The thug staggered up onto his feet, warily avoiding Reese as he crept away, his figurative tail tucked firmly between his legs. He left his friend – still out cold – where he lay on the pavement.

“No honor among thieves,” Reese muttered, almost to himself, but he noticed the quirky, lopsided grin that had lit up Harry’s face for a moment.

“What _is_ the world coming to?” Harry responded with dry humor twinkling in his eyes. “I’m Harold Fitzhenry Grouse III, by the way, but everyone calls me Harry.”

“Pleased to meet you, Harry,” Reese said, recovering – the name, as well as the momentary expression, had thrown him for a loop – and shaking the boy’s hand. “I’m John.”

“Just John?” Harry asked, his eyebrows going up.

“John Cranmer,” Reese answered, remembering in time which alias identification he was carrying today. The boy’s questioning look had also made his breath hitch. With his aquiline nose and trendy, black-rimmed glasses, Harry reminded him very strongly of Finch.

_Could he be related to Finch – possibly even his son?_ Reese wondered, incredulous. _He’s never mentioned having a family, but that doesn’t mean anything..._

“Well, Mr. Cranmer, thank you for saving me from those thugs,” Harry was politely saying as his good breeding took over and helped him overcome his jittery nerves. “I don’t know how soon Olsen will get here, but when he does, could I offer you a ride somewhere? It’s beginning to drizzle a little harder now...”

Reese, of course, was not carrying an umbrella, although he was at least wearing his long woolen coat.

“Actually, I should get going,” he said, turning up his collar. “Do you think you’ll be all right until the car arrives?”

“I don’t know... this _is_ New York, you know... the city with the highest rate of muggings and murders _per capita_ ,” Harry replied with a mock-serious frown. “Maybe you should hang around to make sure I don’t get kidnapped or something; then I can have Olsen drive you wherever you need to go. It has to be quicker than walking and much more comfortable, don’t you think?”

Reese could not stop the grin that tugged at his mouth.

“All right, Harry – you win. But let’s take cover before this drizzle turns into a downpour.”

When they were under the awning of a nearby pharmacy, Reese pulled out his cell and made a call.

_“Yeah, Fusco.”_

“It’s me, Lionel. I have a favor to ask...”

_“A favor, huh? It wouldn’t be anything related to that explosion midtown, would it?”_

“Not directly. But I interrupted three gentlemen in the process of committing a misdemeanor, possibly a felony.”

_“Did you shoot them too?”_

“Of course not, Lionel. But one of them hit his head rather hard on the concrete. He might require medical attention... and another is at the urgent care clinic nearby, getting treated for a broken nose.”

_“All right, I’ll send some uniforms over.”_

Reese gave Fusco the location as Harry listened with frank curiosity.

“I have a friend with the NYPD. He’ll take care of them and make sure that _that_ guy,” indicating the thug on the ground with a nod, “gets looked at by a doctor. Head injuries can be tricky.”

“Yeah, right,” Harry agreed, struggling to feel some sympathy. His heart was still racing and his palms felt clammy and damp – symptoms which had begun around the time he had been surrounded by the three hoods. “So, um... how’d you do that? I mean, are you some sort of... Kung Fu master?”

A smile spread across Reese’s face, taking several years off.

“That’s the first time I’ve ever been called that, although I’ve had some training in it. Mostly I learned mixed martial arts when I was in the Service,” he told the boy.

“Oh! Okay... I used to be on the wrestling team, but I could never do what you just did... especially not against three guys at once.”  

“You were smart, Harry – the best thing to do is give them what they want. I know it’s hard, but losing your wallet, even your identity, is a lot easier to recover from than getting hurt. Trust me, the first thing they taught us in training was to pick our battles: to know when you had a fighting chance and when to cut your losses and run.”

“Yeah... I know that, but maybe I should get back into wrestling... I’d like to be able to defend myself, you know, at least if the odds are even...”

“That’s not a bad idea. But most criminals don’t play fair, so you might want to consider taking some self-defense classes – not exactly street fighting, but how to ward off assailants with knives and other weapons.”

“Say,” Harry said, his eyes lighting up as inspiration struck, “could _you_ teach me? You have the training and you obviously know how to use it in real-life situations. I’m sure my grandfather would be happy to make it worth your time...”

“I’m flattered, Harry, but... I’ve never trained anyone else before... and with my current job, I wouldn’t be able to keep a schedule,” Reese confessed.

“Oh? What do you do?”

“I provide security for a... private investor. I’m on call twenty-four-seven, so any time my boss needs me, I have to drop what I’m doing and rush over. Not that I mind, you know... If I didn’t like the hours, I could always move on. But I’m rather fond of my boss.”

The smile curling Reese’s lips was secretive but all the more genuine for that.

“Oh... I see. That must be a... interesting job,” Harry responded, somewhat awkwardly.

“It has its moments,” Reese said with a wry expression. “Is that your ride?”

Harry felt relief surge through him at the sight of the familiar black Rolls pulling up to the curb.

“Yes! Please, just name your destination,” he said, hitching up his backpack on one shoulder and stepping out toward the street.

The rear door opened to reveal an older gentleman sitting inside.

“Harry! Sorry we’re late. Some accident had the streets clogged like cholesterol,” the man said, eyeing Reese.

“Grandpa! I thought you weren’t going to be home yet. Um, this is John – Mr. Cranmer. He just saved me from getting mugged,” Harry explained. “I offered him a ride to wherever he needs to go. It’s the least we can do since I nearly got robbed _and_ beaten-up.”

“Of course! Of course! Are you all right, Harry?” the man said with concern.

“ _I’m_ fine,” Harry smiled reassuringly, opening the front passenger door and throwing in his backpack. “But the guys that tried to assault me are... faring much worse,” he stated with suppressed pleasure. “There’s one of them over there.”

Seeing the thug lying supine on the pavement, the gentleman’s white eyebrows shot up. He recovered himself a moment later and invited Reese into the car, saying, “You’ve no idea how grateful I am – _no_ idea! Harry is the last family I have, you see – Mr. Cranmer, was it? We’re very much in your debt,” and shaking Reese’s hand as soon as he was inside.

Harry twisted around in the front seat so he could see the two of them as the car pulled away from the curb.

“John, this is my grandfather – as you might’ve guessed – Harold Fitzhenry Grouse, the _first_.”

“Ah! The _original_ ,” Reese said with a smile.

“Guilty as charged,” Grouse responded with a laugh. “I caught an earlier flight and had Olsen pick me up at the airport, which is partly why we were late. I’m sorry you had such a close call, Harry! I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again. Meanwhile, Mr. Cranmer, where can we take you?”

Reese gave them an intersection roughly in the direction that they were already going, thinking to catch a ride back to his apartment from the subway station there.

“If you could just drop me off in front of the store on the corner, that would be perfect. And thank you – you’ve saved me from getting soaked,” Reese added since the rain had begun to come down in earnest.

“Not at all! Please, I can’t even _begin_ to imagine,” Harold began, then broke off, choked with emotion. “I’m sorry... It’s just that... ever since my son and his wife passed...”

“Aw, Grandpa! It’s all right – I’m _fine_ ,” Harry repeated. “You should’ve seen John in action, though! He was _amazing_. Those guys dropped like flies! Actually, the third one took off running, he was so scared!”

“Really?” Harold said with interest, turning to Reese. “What line of work are you in, Mr. Cranmer?”

“Security,” he answered with a self-deprecating smile. “I’m an on-call bodyguard of sorts. And please, call me John.”

“All right, then, John... Do you work through an agency or freelance?”

“Neither – I answer directly to my employer. He calls me whenever he needs me.”

“So you’re on retainer... I see,” Harold nodded.

“Grandpa used to be an attorney so he keeps using legal terms,” Harry said, his eyes dancing mischievously.

“‘Used to be’?” his grandfather echoed in mock injury. “I still _am!_ Just because I’m retired, Harry, doesn’t mean I’ve lost all my marbles. _Yet!_ ”

Reese laughed along with the three others – even Olsen, the driver, who seemed to be a part of the family as well – and forced himself not to stare at Harold’s bald head. He could not help wondering at the way the older gentleman’s eyebrows rose and left creases on his forehead – very reminiscent of Finch’s darker eyebrows and receding hairline.

_And he said his son and daughter-in-law had died_ , he mused silently. _Could it possibly be...?_

“How was the conference, Grandpa? Did your friends come?”

“It was duller than doornails, but most of the old gang did make it out there... what few are left of us! I tell you what, they need to put us old geezers on the Endangered Species List! Either that or place a moratorium on dying...”

Reese felt himself relaxing, a welcome sensation after the adrenalin rush of the chase, followed by the jangling nerves caused by the unexpected explosion. He reminded himself that it was for people like these that he did what he did – to make the world a safer place for ordinary people with ordinary lives, who might not even appreciate how lucky they were.

“John, if I may ask,” Harold broke in on his thoughts, “do you have a family?”

“Uh, no, unfortunately... I missed my chance, years ago,” he said with a vague smile.

“It’s never too late, John! Surely a fine-looking man like you would be beating off the ladies with a stick, as long as you were in the... right situations,” Harold winked, showing the same mischievous twinkle as his grandson. “But I wasn’t asking so I could set you up with some debutantes I know – unless, of course, you’re interested, in which case I know several _delightful_ young ladies – I was actually asking to see if you had plans for dinner tonight.”

“Uh...”

Reese’s plans, such as they were, had been to grab some take-out at a deli on the way home and toss back a couple of beers, mindlessly staring at the television until he had unwound enough to fall sleep.

“Nothing... specific,” he answered, realizing that Finch would not approve of his socializing with any degree of intimacy. There would be too many questions that he could not answer, a natural reason why he had not even attempted it before – ever since he had been recruited for the Agency, much further back than his recruitment by Finch.

“Well, then! You simply _must_ join us for dinner – I insist!” Harold Fitzhenry Grouse I declared. “Victoria, our cook, does amazing things in the kitchen! I promise you won’t regret it.”

“Uh... Well... But if she isn’t expecting company...” Reese began, only to be cut off by a wave of Harold’s hand.

“Pshaw! Not to worry. Just one call and she’ll be happy to pull out all the stops,” he insisted.

“Really, she won’t mind at all – she _loves_ to cook!” Harry added, his large brown eyes also fixed on Reese with eager anticipation. “Oh, just say ‘Yes’! If your boss calls you, Olsen can drive you wherever you need to go. And we don’t live that far out of the way.”

Unable to come up with a plausible excuse, Reese finally accepted their invitation with as much grace as he could muster. And he had to admit, it _did_ sound worlds better than how he had been expecting to spend his evening. But even greater than the prospect of a home-cooked meal, and the company of the two jovial Harolds, was the chance to glimpse the home where Finch might possibly have lived in his previous life.

**Author's Note:**

> I’d started this a long time ago, as you can tell by the fact that Reese is still living in a cheap apartment, and way before we found out about Finch’s father. That episode in particular put the kibosh on my feeble attempt to create a backstory for Finch. If anybody wants to adopt this story and run with it, please feel free – just let me know so I can read it! You can make it canon-compliant by having young Harry’s father be someone else completely, or go rogue and have them be Finch’s actual family in an alternate universe.


End file.
